Glowing Eyes
by Scarred
Summary: When Louisa Clark found out about Will Traynor's plan, letting time simply go by wasn't an option. Will needs help changing his mind, but it doesn't all involve trips and adventures. Sometimes, it comes from within.


Will looked down at the papers laid out in front of him. He chewed on the inside of his cheek, pursing his lips, and glanced over at Lou. Lou, that great bubbly girl, was uncharacteristically still, hands clasped in front of her. She dug her nails into her skin, picking, prodding.

"Your mother told me I still have to fill them out even if you refuse. I'll just put the nastiest shit and make you sound more dysfunctional than you already are."

Will raised an eyebrow.

Lou rolled her eyes. "Please, Will. You promised you'd try. This is trying! I know it's personal, and you don't have to tell me the whole truth, but tell me _something_ so I don't have to lie."

He had promised he would try. Being stuck in this chair for the past two years definitely drained Will of who he had been before the accident, and when he had reached his lowest, he attempted to kill himself. Needless to say, he didn't succeed, and now his parents brought in an overindulgent babysitter to make sure he didn't attempt to slit his wrists again. So far, it had worked. Lou was a breath of fresh air, and Will had grown to like her. A lot. Maybe too much than he would like to admit. The only ones who suspected were his mother and Nathan: His mother said nothing, and Nathan would occasionally wiggle his brows and point at Lou's backside as she walked out of the room. Will turned away from Nathan so many times he lost count.

Six months. That was how long he had given his parents before he was going to kill himself again. This time, it wouldn't be crude and sloppy. He would go to professionals, who had experience dealing with people like him. However, that was before Lou came into the picture. Somehow, she had learned of his plan, and, along with his mother, persuaded Will to try and change his mind.

At first, Will thought it was ridiculous. Nobody could change his mind. He was going to do it. How could they not see how unhappy he was? How little worth his life held? It pained him to see the glow leave Lou's eyes, so he agreed: He would try to change his mind before, as Lou put, his "precious time ran out."

Rather than wallowing in his misery like he had been for the previous years, Lou had made the brilliant suggestion of finding Will a therapist. His mother happily obliged, finding the best one she could, and in a few days, Will would be meeting her for the first time. The papers before him had come from the therapist's office. Standard paperwork, Will was told, and while his mother worked on the insurance and personal information side, Lou was assigned the grittier stuff—the whys, what fors, and how comes.

Will watched as Lou sat down next to him, gently touching the papers on the table. He said nothing as she picked up a pen, fingers curling a little too tight. "Okay," she breathed out. "I suppose I'll read out loud."

"That would be much appreciated, yes."

Lou shot Will a look from the corner of her eye, but didn't give his comment a reply. He sat in his chair, lips pressed together, as he looked down at the papers and rubbed the side of his thumb into the joystick. He would do this, but he wasn't going to like it. As Lou liked to tell him, he was a "stubborn bastard".

"Okay," Lou repeated. "There's a… list of symptoms, and you're supposed to circle the ones that apply to you." She chewed on the end of the pen. "Depressive feelings?"

Will shut his eyes and took a deep breath. This wasn't going to last long. "Yes," he answered.

Lou circled it. "Trouble sleeping?"

"Yes."

"Suicidal—never mind. I'll go ahead and circle that." Lou stuck her tongue in between her lips and lavishly circled the option. "Anger? Change in appetite?" Lou raised her head, looking at Will and studying him. "Anger, maybe," she murmured. Will tipped his head and looked at Lou. He said nothing, and only held her gaze. Lou narrowed her eyes and looked down at the paper. "I'm going to circle both." She did.

Will wet his lips and tapped his finger against the chair. "Go ahead and circle anxious thoughts, too. Might as well." Lou kept her attention on the paper as she went ahead and circled the options related to anxiety, and the remaining ones that dealt with depression.

She shrugged. "Might as well," she breathed out. Lou looked over the list and paused. She glanced at Will. "Trouble with sexual activity?" she asked. There was a hint of mischief in Lou's eyes, as if she already knew the answer. Will told her just that.

"You already know the answer to that."

"But is it related to your… problems?"

"Problems?"

Lou sighed. "The suicide thing."

"To be blunt, yes. Being able to have sex was an important part of my life before the accident."

"You can still have sex," Lou said, almost immediately.

Will raised an eyebrow and stared at Lou, incredulously. "Oh, I can? How do you know that, and I don't?"

Lou rolled her eyes. That was becoming quite popular today. She looked back at the paper and circled the option. "I talked about it with Patrick. He was saying how awful it would be to not have sex anymore, and I—"

"—you discussed my presently nonexistent sex life with your boyfriend?" Will interrupted, knitting his brows together. "Wow, thank you, Clark. That makes me feel… totally better and not like some sort of secret side project."

Will watched as Lou tightened her hold on her pen. She looked down at the papers, then back up at Will. "It's not like that. I was just chatting, and the topic… came up. Actually, I think Patrick was the one who continued it. I was only replying."

He gave a small smile. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

Lou lifted her head, and when she noticed Will's expression, she smiled, too. "Maybe. He's always jealous if I even mention another man. Besides, that was before Patrick knew what you looked like. I'm guessing he doesn't want me to even think about sex and you anymore. Not that I didn't do it much in the first place."

"Sex and myself separately, or us doing it together?"

A hint of blush crept across Lou's cheeks. She cleared her throat and looked down at the papers, rustling and looking through them. "You're a bold man, Will Traynor. So, why do you think you need help, specifically?"

"Honestly, Clark. You know why."

Will watched as Lou scribbled down "I want to die" in the blank space provided.

* * *

His mother didn't like the candidness of Lou's answers to the form. Will told her she wasn't the one seeing a therapist.

* * *

Will admired Lou's stubbornness, but right now, he really, really wanted her to listen to him. "Please, Clark. Not this first time," he said, keeping his eyes at the window. "This is already embarrassing enough," he added, voice soft. Did he detect a slight waver? He hated showing weakness in front of her, in front of everyone. Before, he was always smiling, always on the move. Now… he was quite the opposite.

He heard movement behind him, the floor creaking as Lou walked closer to him. "It isn't embarrassing," she said. Will saw Lou touch his shoulder from the corner of his eye. If he closed his eyes and thought hard enough, he could feel a bit of pressure.

"Louisa," he said firmly, his voice finding strength somewhere in his tight chest.

The hand was gone, and Lou was already walking out of the room. "If you need me, you'll know where I'll be." She shut the door behind her, leaving Will to stew in his thoughts for just a moment longer until Doctor Ophelia Watson arrived.

* * *

Of course the therapist his mother found was as much pomp and stuffiness as the rest of his family. For a second, when she walked into the room, almost sashaying, Will thought they were related. He sat there and stared, because he was definitely not going to talk first.

Doctor Watson seemed to sense Will's discomfort—really, you could tell from leagues away—and gave him a smile to reassure him. "I'm Doctor Ophelia Watson," she began.

"I know."

She crossed the room and sat down in the chair opposite Will. A folder seemed to conjure out of thin air, and she opened it, flipping through the papers inside. From where he sat, Will recognized Lou's slapdash circles. He tapped his thumb against the armrest and lifted his head. "May I call you Ophelia?"

"I—why, yes, you can. I do try to make this as comfortable as I can with my patients."

"Thank you, Ophelia. As I'm sure you know, and I'm inclined to believe you are quite observant, I did not fill out those forms and, currently, am incapable of doing many things I would like to do. However, my mind is very capable of processing thoughts, so I feel compelled to inform you of my… utter, utter disapproval of this whole situation. I've been fine without a therapist, and I still stand by that sentiment."

Will pressed his lips together and waited. He didn't know what to expect, but if he knew his mother and Lou, then Ophelia would have been warned beforehand. It turned out, Will was right.

"I was told I would be shooed away," Ophelia said, shaking her head and returning her eyes to the papers. "I was also told you agreed to this, and I know taking the first steps into an uncomfortable situation is challenging, but I'm here to ease some of your worries and provide insight. I hope by the end of my visits, I will have succeeded."

He was a child, ready to protest and lash out. Still, he did promise he'd try. He promised Clark. Will turned his chair to face the window. "I haven't taken steps in two years, Doctor. I hope you understand my apprehension."

A laugh behind pursed lips. "I can see we have quite a few walls to break down."

Will watched a group of birds pass through the sky. "I look forward to it."

The silence between the two of them grew, as Ophelia continued to rifle through her papers and Will stubbornly stuck to looking out the window. Finally, Ophelia cleared her throat and adjusted in her chair. "For first meetings, I usually take the time to address the answers you provided on the forms, and then I put together a plan based on them. How does that sound?"

Will turned his chair away from the window to face her.

Ophelia didn't waste a beat waiting for Will's not-reply. Quick learner. "Your main issue is the depression and suicidal thoughts. I'm the first to admit, I haven't had many patients dealing with advanced paralysis, but I'm not one to shy away from a challenge myself."

So, along with being a regular patient, he was also _Ophelia's_ secret side project. Maybe she and Clark could compare notes when this was finished.

"Your mother informed me of the circumstances surrounding your accident. Technical details and all that, but she didn't have anything to tell me about your emotional state—besides the suicide attempt and the plan you have in six months."

Will pursed his lips. "I didn't expect my mother to give you any of that emotional goop. _I'm_ the one seeing a therapist, after all." If there was bitterness in his voice, he didn't try to hide it. Let it show. Let his disapproval and anger and fear show.

Ophelia raised her eyebrows, perhaps picking up on the venom in Will's voice. She crossed her legs and shut the file, letting it perch on her knee. "Louisa Clark is your caretaker, yes?"

"One of them."

"Nice girl," she said. "Before I came in here, she told me something about you."

"She tells many people many things. Bit of a chatter."

"There is absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about, Will. Many people visit mental health professionals at some point in their lives. In fact, I advocate for everyone to at least have one visit. It might help them more than they think. If not to provide actual guidance, then just have an unbiased party to talk to. Judgment often holds an individual back from showing their true feelings."

"There's a lot more than judgment that holds me back, Doctor. The broken spinal cord comes to mind."

She gave a small smile and flipped open the folder. Giving the paper on top one last look, she closed it again and returned her attention to Will. "As I'm quite observant," she started, "I can draw my own conclusions as to why you feel suicide is the answer, but I would rather hear it from you."

Ophelia was quiet, then, giving Will the stage. He shifted his eyes to stare at his lap and rubbed the side of his thumb into the joystick on his chair. His mother was paying the woman, and under the definition of trying, he was sure sitting in petty silence wasn't there. Talking was trying. If Will could shrug, show any more signs of nonchalance than his voice, he would. "Suicide isn't just the answer. It's the only answer. I don't know what else there is. What else I'm trying to do here. I just sit here, in this chair, all day. Taking up space and energy that can be used for someone else. It's pretty damned cliché, but I feel like a burden."

Sitting back in her chair, Ophelia placed her hands in her lap. "Will, you might think your situation is shockingly different, but when you peel back everything in a suicidal person, there are a few common factors: Feeling like a burden, loss of self-worth, and the inability to cope and progress. Of course, your situation is different in how you will change your way of thinking and proceed with treatment. You've told me you feel like a burden. Do you feel like your life is worthless?"

"It is."

"How?"

Will paused and knitted his brows together. "Because I can't do anything like I used to. Everyone overlooks me or gives me all these pitiful looks."

"How about coping and progressing? Do you feel rather stagnant?"

"Of course I do! I'm stuck in this damn thing!"

Ophelia hardly flinched at the raise in Will's voice. In her profession, she might have been used to outbursts from people more troubled than Will. She attempted another smile. "Overlooking you and the pity is not your fault. That's how the world treats disabled individuals. I'm going to be blunt with you, Will. Is that okay?"

"Oh, please."

"In the darkest corners of the disabled community, they do want to kill themselves. They feel the same way you do. Unlike you, however, they have people telling them to go ahead. Kill yourself. You are a burden, and you are worthless, and you do deserve not to be here. Don't you think, if you follow through with your plan, you're only advancing that stigma?"

Tears bit at Will's eyes. "That's different," he spat. "No one listens to disabled people. I'm making a choice, and I damn sure want people to hear me."

"No one listens to a dead man, William."

"Get out." The words came out of Will's mouth before he could stop them. He had his forefinger and thumb wrapped around the joystick as hard as he could. "This visit is finished." Will turned away from Ophelia, pointedly not looking at her. It was his own act of protest, one that seemed to succeed, as Ophelia gathered her things and walked across the room.

"Until next time, Mr. Traynor." The door opened, and then was closed. Will narrowed his eyes at the glass. If he had lasers, maybe he could make it melt.

When Nathan and Lou returned to the room at their respective times, they remained quiet around Will. Perhaps they heard the outburst from him and decided not to say anything. That, or the good Doctor said a little too much when she left. Will should find a new therapist. Someone who knew the rules of confidentiality and would also agree with him. But that wouldn't really be _trying_ , would it? Where would be the _challenge_ in that? Besides, his mother probably specifically searched for people who disagreed with his stance. That woman.

"Knock knock."

Will lifted his eyes and looked at the reflection of Lou in the glass. He flicked his gaze back ahead. "What do you want, Clark?"

"Would you rather be outside rather than looking at it?" God, Will could tell she was trying to rouse him. _That_ woman.

"Are you going to talk to me?" Will asked, his voice sounding softer than he intended.

"Only if you talk to me first," she retorted quickly, as if she had ran through this conversation in her head.

Will turned around to face Lou, and even properly seeing her smiling face managed to lift his spirits. "Good," he said, moving towards Lou and not stopping even as she had to leap away.

* * *

"Up, Clark! Watch it!"

Lou ducked, hands lifted to protect her head. She squealed and curled her fingers into fists. The bird that had dived on her merely readjusted its path and continued on. "Little bugger," she hissed, lowering her hands and crossing her arms over her chest. She looked at Will, then, swaying in her spot. "So, Doctor Watson didn't seem happy when she left today."

Will shut his eyes and sighed. "Clark…"

"You talked to me first! You said." Lou lead them over to a bench and sat down, toes turned inwards, knees touching. She rested her hands to cover them. "She didn't say anything, if you were worried."

He brought his chair to a rolling stop in front of Lou. "I wasn't worried." Just shed a few tears, but don't let Louisa know that. "It's likely because I refuse to lie down like a broken-in pup and let her force feed me her ideas and suggestions. If I'm going down, then I'm going down with a fight."

Lou raised her eyebrows, incredulous. "You do realize how hypocritical and overtly dramatic that sounds, right?"

"I haven't any clue what you mean."

"How are you going down with a fight, if you want to commit suicide? Isn't that… not fighting?"

Will stared at Lou, lips pressed together. He found himself parroting the two words he had spat at Ophelia before she left. "That's different."

Then, Lou reached over and took his hand, and with all of the audacity in the bloody world, smiled and shook her head. "No, it isn't."

He wanted to jerk his hand away, but all he could do was sit there and stare, willing the previous tears to not return now. "Lou," he muttered, managing to wiggle his fingers as much as he could. Lou continued to smile and squeezed Will's hand. Will looked down at their hands, and felt his heart speed up a beat. This was definitely not okay. Lou was not supposed to cause doubts to form in his head. He was going to try with the therapist, but ultimately, he was going to end his life in six months, and here was Lou, giving him the tiniest bit of hope he could find in just a squeeze of their hands.

"I want you to apologize," Lou said, giving Will's hand another squeeze to pull his attention back to earth. It didn't work. It took Will a few seconds to realize where he was and for his ears to stop ringing. He blinked several times.

"Apologize?"

"Yes, to Doctor Watson. Send her an email. Tell her how awful you were, and you're sorry. How you're impulsive and rash and nasty when you're confronted with an idea that you didn't think of in the first place. Okay? I can even type it for you. I'll type everything you say."

The last thing in the entire world Will wanted to do was apologize. But here was Louisa, lovely Louisa, being patient, and he was sure this was under the definition of trying, so Will began to nod. "Okay, I'll apologize."

Lou pulled her hand away and stood. "Thank you."

* * *

 _Doctor Ophelia Watson,_

 _It has come to my attention that I might have been acting rather harshly during our appointment today. I've thought about it, and I now realize I should not have dismissed you quite so readily and should have, instead, given what you said some actual consideration. I'm very sorry. How else am I supposed to learn and grow if I'm just being my good-old stubborn self? Yes, I know I'm stubborn, Clark. Shocking, I know. What are you—you're not supposed to write down everything I say!_

 _Since our appointment came to a short end, and we could not discuss any ideas of what the future of my treatment would entail, I was hoping you could reply to this with the few ideas you've formed so far, and I could begin, ugh, what's the word? Work on? Would I work on the ideas? Consider them? What would those really be actually? She mentioned coping, do you think—finding my inner self-worth, really, Clark? Is this supposed to be a spiritual mission? Oh, shut it, I suppose you're right. Are you—CLARK!_

 _I'm afraid this email is going to be cut shorter than I previously thought, because my typist is taking it upon herself to add in humor where it shouldn't be._

' _Til our next appointment, or the next email,_

 _Will Traynor_

* * *

Will shut his eyes as Lou shut his laptop. "That was only mildly exhausting." He could feel the stare and eye roll from his spot in the bed.

"Shut up. Don't you feel better now?"

He thought for a moment. Will opened his eyes and looked towards Lou. "I suppose," he said quietly. Lou stood in the middle of the room, hands on her hips and a smile on her face. She looked as if she won a major award. Will felt his own lips curl into a grin. "You wear that well."

"What do I wear well?"

"A smile."

"Ooh, look at you. A sweet talker." Despite her mocking tone, Lou's smile grew even wider, showing teeth now, and a hint of blush crept across her cheeks. She looked away before Will could say something to turn her into a tomato (he was definitely trying to think of something), and lowered her hands from her waist. Her face suddenly dropped its smile, and she looked out of the window. "Damn it, I think I'm late." Lou rushed around the room, gathering her coat and purse she unceremoniously dumped in his bedroom every day.

"Date with Patrick?" Will asked, shutting his eyes again. "It's best not to bring up the topic of sex and me, then."

"Why on earth would I do that?" she asked, exasperated.

"Fix my pillow before you go." The room stilled as Lou stopped her mad rush. Will opened his eyes to see Lou already standing over him. She cupped the back of his neck and gently raised his head, using her other hand to straighten up the stack of pillows beneath him. Will couldn't take his eyes off her. She gently let him rest and gave him a parting smile.

"If something happens, and I need help burying Patrick's body, you're the first I'll call."

"I'll bring a shovel."

Lou smoothed her thumb over Will's eyebrow, turned, gathered her things, and left.

* * *

The next day, Will made Nathan set up his laptop before he left, moving his arm so he would be able to guide the cursor with his finger.

"Are you sure you don't want me to do that? I don't mind staying a little longer until Louisa gets here."

Will narrowed his eyes at the screen and watched as the cursor carefully dragged itself across the page. "I think I'm okay," he said after a moment. "Besides, this is private. Super-secret stuff."

Nathan laughed and slung his bag over his shoulder. "Alright, James Bond. Do what you will." When he left the room, Will managed to click onto his email, where a message from Ophelia greeted him.

 _Will,_

 _You don't have to apologize. I'm aware I might have overstepped the boundary of professionalism, so perhaps a chastisement is overdue. Our next appointment isn't until another week, but I'm happy to give you a few starting ideas you could, as you said, work on._

 _It might be a bit ridiculous to think about, but your typist is right. Finding your inner self-worth is a bit of a spiritual mission, but it can do wonders to your self-esteem and your outlook on life. Seek out and simply enjoy the things you like. They don't have to be big things. Even the littlest thing can get someone through the day. You worked before the accident, yes? I'm sure you could still find an aspect of that job you could do at home. If that makes your life have worth, then find activities you can do. You might find out that the things you think you could only do before the accident, can still be done now. There just has to be a little bit of adjusting. It can be uncomfortable at first, but it could prove to be worth it in the long run._

 _Upon first impressions, your depression and anxiety, along with your anger and your change in appetite and difficulty sleeping are all related to your condition. Accepting your present state and finding ways to live life with it will help soothe those remaining ills. Also, if the unpleasant thoughts are the things making it hard for you to sleep, consider having the television on when you go to bed, or have some music playing. Your mind will be preoccupied elsewhere and won't trouble you with depreciating thoughts._

 _I saw you had also circled "trouble with sexual activity". I've attached a few links for you to view at your leisure. Intimacy is a common topic of discussion with paralyzed individuals, and many find that their sex life isn't over with their injury._

 _If you have any other questions that you need answered before our appointment, feel free to contact me via email or you can call me—whichever is the best and most convenient for you._

 _Dr. Ophelia Watson_

Three hyperlinks followed her name, and Will suspiciously studied them. View at your leisure, she said. Super-secret, private stuff, indeed. Will was glad Nathan was gone. He didn't want to try and explain the mischievous look in his eye.

* * *

Lou was none the wiser when she came into Will's room later that day. She had been fluttering about the annex, cleaning and singing softly as she done so. She merely glanced at Will and his laptop as she straightened up around the room. "Don't tell me you walked over and got that yourself."

Will glanced up from the screen, squinted at Lou, and returned to his reading. "Yes, I did. Nathan recorded it. I believe he put it on YouTube. I suggested miracle be somewhere in the title."

"Speaking of miracles, Patrick wasn't at home when I came back." Lou went around Will's chair once, picking up the odd pillow. Will glanced over at her. "I called him, apparently went out to a pub to get pissed with his friends. Said something along the lines of 'this is the final straw' and 'I've had it up to here with you'." Lou loosely gestured with her arm, shaking her head. "Anyway, turns out I'm currently single and, evidently, homeless, so." She turned her head and stared at the computer screen. Will couldn't see her face, but the air around them seemed to change—a bit tenser and a lot less fun.

Maybe "view at your leisure" meant when he was alone, and not when his caretaker was hovering around.

"The spare room in the annex is still free," Will said gently, cautiously.

Lou kept her eyes on Will's face. Will can't quite read her expression. "Good, because I already have my bags in the sitting room." She left the room without another word.

Will chewed on the inside of his cheek. He wondered if the words "cunnilingus" and "voyeurism" jumped out to her like they did for him.

* * *

He was left alone for a while, but Will chalked that up to Lou sorting her things out in the spare room—her new room—and possibly discovering a way to erase her last few minutes with Will. Maybe. Will wasn't sure what Lou was thinking. She was the one who brought up the topic of sex in the first place, so she really shouldn't be acting this way. Then again, joking about it, and actually seeing Will search forum upon forum of disabled people discussing sex were two different things. It meant that Will was considering it, or he obtained enough information to decide he shouldn't even try to have sex again.

Still, he failed to see how that affected Lou. Unless Will was a humongous idiot and was blind as well as paralyzed.

Will hadn't even had the therapist a full week, and she was already making his life awful.

* * *

The remainder of the day passed by smoothly, if not odd. Lou continued to do her daily tasks without interruption, but she did seem a bit brisk around Will, especially when she was feeding Will and missed his mouth. It wasn't anything new to them—Lou often got distracted. Will grew not to care anymore. It was better than not being fed at all. This time, though, Lou picked up the napkin and roughly wiped at his cheek.

Will winced and wrinkled his nose. "Clark."

Lou seemed startled by Will's voice. She widened her eyes and pulled the napkin away. "Oh, shit. I didn't mean—I'm sorry." Lou lifted her hand and gently rubbed Will's cheek, no doubt red and irritated. "I was just thinking," she murmured.

"That's always dangerous," Will said, watching her. "Did you get everything settled in the spare room?" he asked, trying to change the subject. "You said you had everything already with you. Did you assume I'd say yes?" Lou lifted the spoon back to Will's lips. He shook his head, and she lowered the utensil.

"I mean, you had offered before, so I figured it didn't suddenly retract when I decided to move in with Patrick."

"Clark, you were with him for six years. If you wanted to move in with him, then you would have done it sooner." Lou gave Will a look and stood, putting the plate and spoon into the sink.

She sighed and looked ahead, head tipped to the side. "I was... very fond of him."

"I adore you." Lou's eyes widened again, and she stayed by the sink, frozen. It took Will a moment to realize what he had said. Back it up, back it up. "And... that's why the offer didn't suddenly retract when you said no, that first time." Was that good? Oh, he bloody hoped so. Lou, however, stayed where she was. Will glanced around the room and backed up, turning his chair around and returning to his bedroom.

* * *

Will didn't see Lou again until Nathan was leaving for the night. They crossed paths while he was walking out of the room and she was moving in. Her hair was pushed up into two messy buns at the side of her head, and she had donned her pajamas—an oversized t-shirt adorned with several cats and, Will imagined, a pair of shorts underneath it. On her feet was a ridiculous pair of fuzzy slippers. Nathan raised his brows. "Louisa! You're still here."

"I live here, Nathan."

"Since when?"

"Since today."

"Ah, congratulations!"

"Nathan," Will said from his spot in the bed.

"See you tomorrow!"

Will narrowed his eyes and looked over at Lou, who was standing at the foot of his bed. He kept quiet for a second. "Making yourself at home?"

"It isn't that hard," Lou answered. "Do you need anything before I turn in?"

Not mentioning what had happened earlier, then. Which event? Hush.

"Actually, if you don't mind, could you turn on the telly?"

Lou spun around and picked up the television remote. She went back over to Will and sat on the edge of the mattress, perched, balancing, as she flipped through channels. "What did you want to watch?"

Will stared at Lou. "I don't know. Ophelia replied to my—our email and said having the telly on while I slept could keep my mind preoccupied so I would stop having bad thoughts." Lou looked over her shoulder at him, just as Will glanced at the screen. "Or something. Sounds like shit."

"Is that what the sex articles were about?" Lou asked, turning back ahead. Her question was so nonchalant, so different from her actions earlier. She might have sorted out her thoughts in the time they weren't together. Will was a bit envious. His mind was still racing and tumbling about.

"Yes," he said. "You thought it was funny to circle the sex troubles option. We never talked about it during our appointment, so I could tell her I was kidding." Lou looked over again. "I was kidding only a tad."

Lou rubbed her thumb against the remote's buttons. "And?"

"You were right. Are right. I can still have sex. It just requires... a little adjusting."

"Like everything else in your life."

Will paused. "Yes, you're right about that, too." Lou grinned and returned to the television. She stopped flipping through channels and kept it on a true crime show. Lou turned down the volume and got out of bed. "What are you torturing me with?"

"Haha, I'm not torturing you. I watch this when I pull all-nighters. The narrator has a voice that can keep you intrigued but can also put you to sleep if you need it." Lou set the remote on the night stand and scratched the back of her head. "Do you need anything else?"

"No."

"You sure? Last call before I'm off to bed."

"Thank you, Clark."

Lou studied Will for several seconds before she turned off his lamp. She walked to the door and stopped just a few paces away from the frame. Raising an eyebrow, she rotated on her heel, turning towards Will. "I adore you, too."

Will stared.

"Goodnight, Will."

* * *

Finding even some semblance of self-worth was difficult when Will constantly thought of himself as having absolutely none for the past two years. He had heard differing opinions through the years. His family was in a constant state of denying he was worthless, even when Will tried to tell them otherwise. When Lou came into the picture, their stances became more subtle, but nonetheless, they were still there. Will thought Lou's constant declaration that Will should be happy he was still alive would have been enough, but his mother and father liked to remind him the same. He and his father never had a close relationship like he had with his mother, though he tried in his own way to make Will find worth.

Along with Lou, he approached Will with a list of activities—most of them sports—that he could try when he felt up to it. "We could even try them together," he had said, giving Will a smile that he knew was only reserved for his mistress. Will took it to heart all the same.

When the idea came back to his therapist, Will heard it more often. "You liked to do a lot of these activities before your accident, and it looks like there are companies that specifically aim towards disabled individuals."

Will managed a smile, a rare thing in the presence of Doctor Watson, but as time had passed, he had become more comfortable with her. Less antagonistic. More willing to learn. "Yes, I know."

"Anything that peaks your interest?"

"Clark… Louisa has a trip in mind for us. I had mentioned a vacation I went on years ago, and she remembered. It's full of nonsense, but I like to watch her talk about it."

"But?"

"I don't know if I'll go. It's… close to that date I had set."

Ophelia grew a grave expression and leaned back in her chair. "I see. So, you're still heavily considering it."

Weeks prior, Will would have spat out and said, "of course I bloody am," but now he paused. Not for long, though. "To be honest, Doctor, I haven't thought about killing myself for quite a while."

The sullen look dropped, and Ophelia grinned. "That's good, isn't it? Why not go on the trip, then?"

"Poor taste?"

"Wouldn't it be better to spend it doing something fun, so you don't have to think about it?"

"Aren't you full of bright ideas, Ophelia?"

"I went to school to suggest bright ideas to people, Will. Tell me how everything is going. Our visits have grown rather sparse recently."

"Your whole pseudo-intellectual spiritual bullshit worked wonders, actually. I've been listening to my family tell me how important I was for years and years, and I never believed them, because I was too preoccupied with the fact I'll never walk again. Never run or jump or climb or… anything again. I locked myself away, because I thought that was what I was supposed to do. Turns out, I'm not a wholly unique person, because Clark told me she had been doing some research of her own. She got on this… silly forum full of disabled people, and they were all encouraging her to tell me to keep on living. These were actual disabled people telling me that life wasn't so bad for them. It was a whole new journey, or a journey they have been taking all their lives. They lived adventurously and didn't let their disability hold them back.

"I realized I was a fool. I was so caught up with the idea of people talking over me and making choices for me, that I was more concerned about killing myself, getting to make that decision, so I didn't really think about the consequences. I had planned my suicide, and that was good enough for me. I never thought about encouraging the stigma of disabled people being better off dead or anything. I was selfish, in a sense. But I thought everyone else was selfish, not me. All everyone else wanted to do was show me they cared, despite what had happened, and I was… I think I was too closed off from the world. I only had my family and the occasional friend who even bothered to visit. I really had no opinions or viewpoints that came from other disabled people. So, when Clark showed me that forum… It meant a lot to me. Opened my eyes, broadened my horizons, all that ridiculous romantic stuff."

"Gaining a perspective and finding your place in your community can be really beneficial," Ophelia said, smiling only growing. "Do you still get online?"

"Clark does. Every evening we get online and find more stories. There really isn't an end to them."

"Have you thought about contributing?"

Will smirked and shut his eyes. "I've already had that conversation with Clark." He could hear her voice now, her insistence that Will make a few posts, make a blog, make videos even.

"Do you have any idea what you could provide to these people?" she had said, sounding almost in awe. "You were this big hotshot of a man, you were injured, and still living your life to the fullest you can." Lou was sitting cross-legged beside Will in bed, hands on her thighs, eyes wide. She looked over at Will, grinning. "We could start making videos!"

He had closed his eyes and started to shake his head. "Clark, I'm thirty-five."

She reached over and rubbed at his arm. "Exactly! Even better! You're thirty-five, and you're still living your life!" Lou looked at Will, and there was no way in hell he could deny the joy that was etched on her face.

"And?" Ophelia asked.

Will opened his eyes and tapped his thumb against the arm rest. "We'll see." He laughed.

* * *

"Now, if you need anything, anything at all—even just someone to talk to—don't hesitate to call me. I know slip-ups can happen, and just because my visits will be ending, doesn't mean you can't receive my help again."

"I appreciate it, Ophelia. Thanks again."

* * *

When Will woke up that morning, he remembered this was the day he was supposed to die. He remembered crying in the middle of the night, aching for everything to end. Now, as he laid in bed, light pouring into the room, the last thing he ever wanted to do was die.

He had spent two years buried in the grave he had dug for himself. His family left him be, for the most part. The occasional conversation here, the plea there, couldn't pull Will out of the dark crevice that was his depression. He climbed, though, metaphorically, out of that grave, not just with encouragement from his family and friends, but from the disabled community and the insight he gained with his therapist.

Despite his protest from the start, Lou had started to make videos of the two of them. Will was front and center for all of them, as he should be, he decided. He told his small audience of how he had been successful and wealthy and hopelessly arrogant, but all of that ended—he had thought—when he broke his spine. As Lou had predicted, many people were inspired and glad for Will to have told his story. Will forgot how many times he had to turn away from Lou's "I told you so" looks.

Will was supposed to die today, except he wasn't, and now he was in bed with Louisa Clark, in Paris, no less. She slept, her hair obscuring her relaxed features and muffling her soft snore. It was the best sound Will had ever heard, second only to the ones Lou made the night before.

He remembered the kisses they shared. The hand that gripped the headboard while the other held onto Will's hair, urging him closer, his tongue, his tongue, his _tongue_ , she had moaned. If he thought hard enough, he could feel how warm she was when they were nose to nose, and she slid onto his cock—

—"Good morning," Lou murmured, stirring next to Will. She lifted a hand, pushing her mane of hair away from her face. She stared at Will, narrowing her eyes. "Were you watching me sleep?"

"Yes."

"Creepy," Lou said and leaned in, kissing Will's cheek. She lifted a hand to touch Will's face and carefully turned his head. They stared at each other for a moment, just a moment, and Will inched as close as he could. Lou sealed the gap with a kiss, slow and gentle, giving Will a taste of what this new day would hold and the days to come.

Lou pulled back and settled against the pillows. She studied Will, arms wrapped around herself. She smiled. "I'm glad you're here," she whispered. Will remained quiet and smiled back, the sentiment shared. "Where are we going today?" she asked.

Will hummed and wet his lips. He glanced around the room and then quirked an eyebrow, looking back at her. "Le Marais."

Her face lit up, and she turned, grabbing a hold of Will's arm and scooting in close. Lou let Will's arm encircle her, and she slipped their fingers together. "Are you taking me to that café? Can I bring a camera?"

"I would hope so. How else would you be labeled as a tourist?"

They laughed, giggled, filling the silence of their room. The only thing Will wanted to do today was live.


End file.
